An Assassin's Story
by LeahAlexa
Summary: "We are assassins. This school has dedicated itself to teaching women to become deadly, dangerous. It's unheard of. But just think, how many of you hear about women assassins being killed? It's very rare. That's because people don't immediately think that the girl they brought to the cinema, or the old lady they just helped across the street, could be a contract killer." - AU
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

I knew he was going to follow me. It was inevitable. As I extended my hand to press the elevator button, another beat me to it. The boy I'd been told to follow today.

"Hey," he nodded, pressing the button.

"Hi," I smiled, pressing the button again. When the elevator came, we both stepped into it quietly, him leaning on the railings at the back, me facing the stainless steel doors in the corner.

I knew nothing about this boy, except that I had to tail him. I had also been told that he was a civilian, an innocent bystander Solomon had picked out.

"So," he started, pointing at the crest on my grey blazer. "The Guggenheim Academy-"

"Gallagher Academy," I corrected.

"I've never heard of it," he shrugged. Well, I'm not surprised, to be honest. Gallagher was very selective about who knew of it.

"Well, it's my school," I said, hearing the familiar sound of Bex talking in my comms.

As I pulled out my cell, I heard the boy ask; "You in a hurry or something? That's like the 2nd time you've checked your phone in the space of 3 minutes."

"I'm supposed to meet my teacher at the ruby slipper exhibit in 20 minutes, and if I'm late, he'll kill me." Not an over exaggeration, I hope. Though he'll probably make me do laps around campus, or something.

The doors dinged open and I walked out, hearing the boy's footsteps echoing behind me. I spun around. "Where are you going?"

"I thought we were going to meet your teacher at the wonderful world of Oz?" he said, confused. "It's dark, you're by yourself, and this _is _DC. Anyway, it's only a bit up here."

I shrugged. "If you want to, you don't have to."

He smiled. "You're right, I don't have to, but I _want_ to."

We walked through the doors of the museum and headed for the stairs. The boy let me go first, considering the staircase was incredibly small. One flight of stairs later and we were facing the ruby slipper exhibit. I looked around for Solomon. There was no sign of him. In the distance, I could hear the bell tower ding, signifying 5pm. He still wasn't here. As I walked around, I noticed him hidden in the shadows. He gestured to the boy.

"Hey, are you sure you have the right place?" the boy beside me asked, looking down at me worriedly.

I nodded. Then I understood. I needed to get rid of the boy. A group of tourists came in and I easily blended in, being the Chameleon and all. I watched as the boy spun around and around, confused as to where I could have gone, before he shrugged and walked off towards the elevator.

As soon as those elevator doors closed, an arm was around my shoulder, dragging me away. "What do you think you were doing?" he hissed in my ear as we melted into the shadows.

"My mission."

"No, your mission was to tail him, not bring him to the rendezvous point. You could have blown us!"

"But I didn't, did I? I managed to get away from him, and I tailed him without his knowledge."

"Okay, what was his name?"

A thousand images flashed through my head as I searched through everything I had seen earlier. "Zach. It was written on his inside left forearm, which means he was right handed."

"What else can you tell me about him?"

"He liked to draw. I noticed a piece of paper stuffed inside his pocket with a drawing of a crest on it, presumably Blackthorne Crest, seeing as that's the school he goes too. He had a small scar on his left cheek, as if he'd been in a knife fight. Recently as well, considering the calluses on his hands."

"Age?"

"Well, judging by his height – 5'11'' – and his weight – about 150lbs – I'm guessing he's 16/17 and that he was a Summer baby, by his natural tan, bright eyes and thin hair."

He looked slightly impressed, but I knew he wasn't going to let me off that easily.

"Get back to the van."

The finality in his tone was enough to tell me not to push it. He gripped my arm and led me towards the stairs, allowing me to go first, but still holding my bicep harshly.

"Damn, he's there," Solomon muttered behind me as we neared the end of the stairwell. I peaked around the corner and saw the boy, Zach, stood there leaning against the desk, reading a pamphlet.

I cursed under my breath, before pulling out a black wig from my backpack and pulling it on my head, tucking my natural blonde hair underneath it. I turned to Solomon and bent my head towards him, silently asking him to tuck any loose strands under the black locks. He did so, before gripping my arm again, obviously not trusting me to not run away.

As we walked past Zach, I noticed him look at me, before looking back to the pamphlet. I guess he didn't put two and two together. We walked out of the museum and I felt as Solomon ripped the wig off my head, still angry with me.

He pushed me towards the parked van at the other end of the Smithsonian and sat me in the back with the other girls. They looked questioningly at me, but I just smiled as Solomon leaned down to my ear.

"This is not over, Cameron."

And then we were plunged into darkness.

**[****NOW I'M HERE IN A STICKY SITUATION****]**

As we stepped out of the van onto the familiar tarmac of the Gallagher Campus, I breathed in the fresh air I had grown so accustomed to. I didn't like the atmosphere in Washington, it was clingy and humid, but out here it was a lot cleaner, despite what the actual School was doing.

Again, I felt the tight arm on bicep, dragging me to the other side of the van. I couldn't help it, I snapped.

"Jesus, Solomon, can you _stop_ grabbing my arm? I'm not a ragdoll!" I glared, pulling my arm out of his grip. He looked slightly shocked at my outburst, but that quickly turned into anger.

"You are to go into the Tombs," he started. My eyes widened at that one line as it registered in my mind. The Tombs were forbidden to students to go inside unaccompanied by a teacher. And there were many reasons for that rule. "Find the log book from winter 1989 by Matthew Morgan and bring it back to me. Don't come out until you have it."

He spoke with authority, as if he was writing my death wish out. He pushed me off in the direction of the Tombs. I was still in shock.

I knew I was going to get punished, it was inevitable, but I never, in a million years, would've thought that he'd send me off into the Tombs, of all places. And alone, at that. I knew I deserved it; I was stupid, reckless and only thinking of my reputation. It's a maze of booby traps, dead ends, hidden ends, even a bottomless pit. It was home to many animals, from rats to spiders and snakes to stray dogs.

You'd have to be an idiot to go in there unprepared, but that's the thing, I'm not a hundred percent unprepared. I'd been in there a thousand times before. I basically knew that place like the back of my hand, but that didn't mean I was still scared out of my mind. This is the first time I'd been summoned to go in there on my own. Yet, I knew I had to. If I didn't, then Solomon would just tell my father and who knew where that would lead to.

As I neared the group of trees that concealed the entrance to the Tombs, I immediately started searching for the lever – my eyes roaming around every square inch of the place. The quicker in, the quicker out.

I located it within seconds and swiftly pulled it, jumping back as I did, hearing the familiar mechanical whirring of the Tombs opening. Inside, it was dark, gloomy and extremely humid. My hand instinctively went to my hair, tying it in a tight bun on the top of my head – my mind working on autopilot.

About a half kilometre in, I turned to my left, there was a dark dusty hallway that I knew led to the waterfall and to my right, there was a small passageway that I immediately took, squeezing through the small gap.

"Goddammit, where's that journal?"

I froze at the exit of the passageway. My eyes snapped from the ground to the auditorium in front of me, and then to the _stipes libro locus_ where I noticed the door wide open. There was a silhouette of a woman in the doorway, hands on hips, staring into the small archive room.

She was tall, curvy, thin, athletic. She looked like a model, but then again, I could only see her outline, due to the poor lightening.

She groaned and moved back inside the room, out of sight. I silently slipped from the passageway, running to take cover behind the auditorium chairs. My senses were on high alert, my eyes roaming around the larger room, checking for anything unusual. My brain was running on over time. But for reasons I'm still not entirely sure on, I wasn't _scared_. I was, kind of, excited. In a totally sick way.

"You said it would be here!" the same voice screeched, obviously furious.

There was a second voice. "It was, Ma'am, it was! I saw it with my own eyes, for heaven's sake!"

The second voice sounded distraught, scared. I cautiously walked up the stairs between the two aisles of chairs, careful to make sure my feet were silent on the cold limestone.

The first person sighed, and I could imagine her rubbing her temples. "Is there any chance someone could have – oh, I don't know – come in and moved it?"

"No!" the second person gasped out, seemingly in pain. "No student is allowed in here without supervision, and many don't even know how to get in here."

"Teachers?" the first woman asked.

There was a scream of pain. "N- no, the staff avoid coming in here, it's too dangerous and unpredictable now since the s- security's been improved. You'd have to be a genius to get in through Gallagher."

My eyebrows furrowed as I neared the _stipes libro locus_. There was another entrance into here? One that's not inside Gallagher?

I quickly hid behind a row of seats at the very back of the auditorium, my ears alert for anyone nearing the door. I pushed a crack in the wall, effectively opening up the wall behind the cabinet that I knew held the 1980's log books. I'd read a lot of journals in the _stipes libro locus_, amazed at some of the events recorded. I quickly dropped to the floor, where the 1989 log books were and started searching.

Within seconds, I located the journal, and as I was about to duck back out of the cabinet, the doors flew open.

"Well, what do we have here then?" the woman asked, a smirk on her lips. I cursed in Latin, my mind working for an escape route. The woman laughed as I felt two sets of beefy hands grab my upper arms. "_Stercore_, all right."

I had a new found hatred for Joe Solomon and his cruel punishments.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

I was dragged into the _stipes libro locus,_ and handcuffed, before being kicked in the back of my knees, forcing me to fall to the ground next to the other handcuffed woman.

She was unknown to me, but it looked as if she had been badly treated. She offered me a small smile. In return, I grinned at her, hoping to lighten the mood. "Hey there."

"Stop talking to her!" the other woman shouted, slapping me across the face with the butt of her gun.

I snapped my head round to face her, my face calm. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I stated, coolly, before turning back to the woman beside me. I looked at her wrist behind her back and saw some lettering tattooed there. "Sweet, your name's Caroline? Nice to meet you," I said. "I would offer you a hand, but you know...it's kind of in use."

She laughed at this, until the other woman struck her in the stomach. "I said, stop talking to her!"

"I'll talk to whoever I want, thank you."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," she spoke, aiming the Glock at my head. This was my favourite part.

"You know, Mrs…" I started.

She looked at me curiously, before raising the gun again. "Jude." _No doubt a fake name._

"Mrs Jude, if I was you, I'd make my prisoner suffer first, not kill them straight away. Just takes the fun out of it – killing them straight away. So, I'm your prisoner, make me suffer," I said, my voice clear and strong.

For about 30 seconds, _Mrs Jude_ contemplated my idea. I could see the cognates in her head spinning. She must have thought it was a good idea – my idea – because before I knew it, she had shot my shoulder.

I screamed out in pain. This bullet was just a through-and-through.

She smiled a cruel smile, but I could tell she was wary. She shot again, right next to the previous bullet hole. I screamed louder, feeling the hot, sticky blood ooze down my arm, slipping between the handcuff of my right hand. I wiggled my hand slowly, ignoring the sharp pain there. My thin hand slipped out easily, the blood acting as a lubricant.

Before she had time to react, my left hand had grabbed the pistol in my belt hoops and was aimed right at her heart.

"One more move and your dead," I hissed at her, standing up and walking over to where she was stood. She knew I meant business. Her goons turned around at the sound of my voice. I quickly shot them, not killing them, just paralyzing them.

_Mrs Jude_ was frozen in her skin. I quickly, lightening quickly, punched her, knocking her out in one. My attention turned back towards Caroline.

She looked scared out of her mind. "Hey, Caroline? Do you know your way out?" She nodded, silently. I smiled warmly at her. "Okay, get out and go to the nearest telephone and ring your people. I'm going shoot the handcuffs now, okay?"

After helping her out of the cuffs, she limped towards the way she must have come.

I, myself, ran out the way _I'd_ come, the journal locked underneath my good arm. The pain subsided a bit as I lost feeling in that arm. I knew I didn't have long until I blacked out, but I still ran. Running was what I did best.

I breathed in the fresh air as I broke away from the Tombs, silently cursing Joe Solomon and his cruel ways.

In the distance, I could hear the grunts of the girls practicing Martial Arts. I could see the faint GSR as the girls shot rifles at the targets. I could smell the explosives in the side of the mountains as the R&D track experimented. But none of it registered as I forced myself to walk straight through the middle of that, my right hand clutched around the book, while my left hand attempted to slow the flow of blood from the two bullet holes in my shoulder.

The girls all around me turned and gasped as they watched me limp and struggle towards the main building.

"CAMMIE!" I heard a familiar English voice scream. I vaguely heard the thud of feet running towards me, but all I could really _see_ was Joe Solomon walking towards me, the air of nonchalance. He didn't even look as if he cared that I was injured. He didn't even look proud that I had the journal.

"Oh, my God, Cammie what happened?" Liz said as she arrived at my side, having been running around the track.

My eyes were glued on Solomon's as we came within 5 metres of each other. I ignored my friends and spoke only to him. "I got your book."

He nodded and took it off me. "What happened?"

"Someone was down there, looking for a journal or something. She shot me twice. She's unconscious and paralyzed."

He nodded again, before walking away back towards the school. I took that as my cue to follow, my hand wrapping tighter around my arm. "Sutton, Baxter, back to class," he said, authority laced in his voice.

"But –"

"I said, back to class."

I smiled reassuringly at the girls, and watched as they retreated reluctantly. Solomon led me through the dark corridors of Gallagher, before leaving me at the infirmary. I didn't need to explain what had happened to the nurse, that wasn't her job. Here at Gallagher, everyone lived on a need-to-know basis. If I didn't tell her straight off, then she didn't need to know.

She examined it, before concluding that I needed surgery immediately. Next I knew, I was blacking out, the pain disappearing.

**[THIS USED TO BE A FUNHOUSE]**

"Cameron," a stern voice was saying above me. "Cameron, get up."

I shook my head, ignoring the white hot pain in my shoulder. Whoever was speaking to me in that moment, they could wait. I had _a few_ other things on my mind.

"Don't shake your head at me, Cameron. Now, get up before I force you." My eyes snapped open as the voice registered in my mind.

My eyes were wide as I spoke, "Dad, what are you doing here?"

He looked disappointed. "What were you doing in the Tombs?"

I became aware of my surrounds, and as I did, I noticed Solomon cowering in the corner, his face void of all emotion. I was torn between telling my father the truth and embarrassing Solomon's sorry ass, or saving him from being sacked.

I chose the former.

"Solomon punished me, told me to get your journal from winter 1989-" I started to say, my eyes locked with Solomon's. Sheer panic flashed over his features, and, to my surprise, he didn't try to hide it. He knew he was going to get smack off my dad.

I watched, eyes focused, as my father crossed the room in two long strides, before grabbing Solomon by the collar, lifting him up. "Why did you send _my daughter_ into the Tombs alone?" He added in a hushed tone, "You know why _she_, of all people, isn't allowed in there."

"Wait, what?" I asked, pushing myself up with my left arm. "What do you mean '_she_'?"

"Lay back down, Cam. Me and Joe need to talk," my father said, walking out of the infirmary room. Solomon followed a little more slowly. His eyes glued on my shoulder.

"You had to, didn't you?" he glared at me, his voice no more than a hiss.

He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I shouted at his back, "THANKS FOR NOTHING, SOLOMON."

I lay in that bed for three days. No one visited me, no one came to see how I was, not even my own _father_. Not even my _best friends_. And it wasn't a matter of them not being able to visit me; the day before, I'd seen a freshman visit her sister a couple of rooms down from me. I didn't have a TV, magazines, a phone or laptop, didn't have a book. Nothing. _Nada_.

During my fourth day, I knew why no one had visited me – I knew why there was nothing to entertain me in that room. Dad wanted me to sleep. He wanted me to get rid of the insomnia-like state I had found myself in.

On the fifth day, I was awoken from my light slumber by talking outside my room. One of my eyes opened, giving me an air of a cat.

"You're crazy, man," I heard Solomon say. I imagined him shaking his head.

"No, far from it actually," my dad responded.

That must have set Solomon on edge. "You're going to kill them. Either that or the _girls_ will kill them. They'll find out after the first two weeks. The inside of this school doesn't exactly look like juvie."

_Now_ I was hooked.

"Joe, don't you know our girls are better than that? They've been trained for this. They can keep a secret for 3 months."

"And what about the image of the school?"

My father laughed. "_Cabrona, _please. Have a little more faith in me."

I heard retreating footsteps. My mind was on overtime, thinking of what they could mean. I was close to sneaking out until the nurse came in and told me I could leave, giving me a letter with things I could do to help my injured shoulder.

My hand pulled the sheets away from my legs, my left leg swinging over the edge of the bed. As I pushed myself up slowly, I tried to ease the sudden headache I'd gotten from not standing up in five or so days.

My bare feet were silent along the floor as I padded across the cold granite floor. I was aware of the dull ache to the right of my collar bone but I simply ignored it, fuelled by the need to know.

As I passed a clock on the wall, I saw it was 6:00, the start of the evening dinner. My father, all other members of staff and students would be in the Mess Room eating Italian food or something.

Not me, though.

I was planning on breaking into my dad's office and searching for a clue as to what they meant. It's not like I was expecting to see a huge bulking file with the words '_3 month exchange program'_, but that's exactly what I found.

On the coffee table in front of my father's desk was a blue folder with the words '_3 month exchange program – Blackthorne-Gallagher_ _– Juniors'_ written on the front in thick black marker.

I didn't open the folder.

I didn't have to; the title was pretty self-explanatory.

As I turned the folder around in my hands, I noticed a small inscription in the bottom right corner on the back. _To be kept from prying eyes. A.K.A. Cameron_.

I smiled at the irony.


End file.
